


Unlikely Friends

by renguro



Category: League of Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renguro/pseuds/renguro
Summary: A simple spiel about how Nunu and Willump might have met.At the time of posting, I wrote it a few months ago, so it's kinda crusty. I'm still pretty happy with it though.





	Unlikely Friends

They say that there’s a gem, not just any ordinary gem, whose surface swirls the same way snow is kicked up into the clear blue sky by a biting wind. A gem, granting the power, the unimaginable forces of nature whipping across the land and cutting at the mountains to a mere mortal. They say you could create a blizzard with just a thought if you had the gem’s power! However, there’s also something guarding the gem, that’s what the survivors say. Cold eyes that pierced you like the icicles their color resembled. Enormous, dark claws that could rip even the mightiest of armor to shreds! And finally, horns that curl high, high above you, so tall you’d have to fall on your butt to see the top of them! They say that that fierce monster took down person after foolish person who wanted to claim that gem… They kept coming. Even the mighty ice-witch and her soldiers couldn’t defeat it! Year after year after year, they were sent, but they never came back! Maybe falling to the beast was better than returning to the ‘wrath of the ice-witch’... But hey.

The little boy clinging to the back of an enormous beast as its hooves beat through the powdery snow didn’t care. Followed by its herd, all he could think about, as he held its neck tightly, was of how that ice-witch would have to help him after he brought back the gem! He’d defeat the beast and earn her respect. He’d earn her soldier’s respect! He’d even earn the respect of the other kids! They’d just have to, after he rode triumphantly back to the Citadel on the back of these elkyr, the gem hoisted above his head, singing the song he’d made of his epic battle on the way back! He’d be a hero! A hero, like the ones that cut the heads off of sea serpents, and the ones that fought dragons and saved villages!

A hero, like the ones his mom sung about. The joyful expression dropped from the boy’s face, all fantasies of his victorious return from the beast’s lair slipping out of his mind. All of the songs he’d remember her singing, in the back of his head faded away to the whipping of the wind in his ears, and the huffs and stomps of the elkyr. He looked back, still holding on tightly to his ride as they continued to dash through the vast snowfields. In the far distance were the lights of the Foundling Village, just barely there, twinkling on the edge of an enormous mountain. And even farther, a dark blue silhouette against the night sky, towered the Citadel. He’d been there before, a few times. He’d met the ice witch Lissandra there, and she was the one who made him have this brilliant idea in the first place. 

The boy reassured himself, turning back to the task at hand, at the looming mountain in front of him where the beast lived. No, he’d be a hero! He’d show Lissandra and the Frostguards that he was plenty capable of going and finding his mom. He’d return with the gem and be victorious! Songs about him would be sung! And as the elkyr’s footsteps slowly tapered out, fight flared in his heart again. The moment his feet hit the ground, he knew he would be victorious. Thanking the herd of elkyr, the boy raised a wooden flute to his lips, and blew. The animal’s ears flicked, and they blinked, as if being raised from a spell. With a loud grunt, the one that carried him turned and ran off into the snow, back to a place where they could see the light of safety. He wouldn’t turn back to the Foundling Village until he had that gem. Facing the climb ahead, the boy flexed his fingers in his gloves. He couldn’t depend on the elkyr to carry him all the way up to the beast’s dreaded lair. Their hooves were unreliable on the slopes of mountains, and he had to do this alone.

“Get ready, monster!” The boy shouted and whooped into the soft silence of the land, clenching his hands into fists around his flute. It was time to become a hero.

 

There was nothing but the howling of wind, and the glint of snow softly settling on the ruined, crumbling stonework around him. He closed his eyes as the wind kicked up, sending a spray of snow into his face, nose twitching from the cold, fighting back a sneeze. A large tongue lolled out of his mouth, weaving in between large teeth, licking his nose, and then sliding back in. An ear twitched. Nothing else moved, but as his eyes opened again, he reminded himself of what he’d been doing for hundreds of years now. He turned his large head, grunting a bit as he looked back at the last of his people’s magic, in a small gem, enough to be held in the palm of a human’s hand. It pained him to look at for too long, so he turned back to the entrance of his nook in the ruins, snuffling a bit, his breath a white plume in the early morning light. 

This gem was the last thing that remained of his noble race, and he would protect it until the end of time if he had to. After all, that was the only thing he could remember, apart from the horrible image of his people driven to madness without their magic. The people he loved became monsters. He was the only one who held onto something, and that was the gem and his duty. All he could remember was that he had to keep it safe from those who would use it for evil, until a worthy vessel came to claim that magic. So far, nobody like that had come. Brutish men and women, dressed heavily in furs and armor stolen from others had all tried, and tried again. In every one of their minds, he saw darkness swirling within, and knew that they were unworthy to claim the power he guarded. Even the bodies of those unfortunate enough to face him strewn about the ruins weren’t enough to sway their greedy, bloodthirsty hearts, in which a fire that could consume the world burned.

The old guardian didn’t know of the little boy who finally reached his crumbled home after a long and difficult climb. The boy nearly threw himself forward onto the safety of the ruins, letting out an exhausted sigh as he tumbled into the untouched snow. He lay there for a few moments, catching his breath, before raising his head, shaking the snow from his hair, and getting his bearings. A hero never rests! But… It might be good to take a break in preparation for his battle. The monster had been waiting this long, it could wait a little bit longer. Hauling himself to his feet, the boy brushed the snow off of himself as he walked, staring up at the enormous crumbling stone buildings around him. Padding through the snow, he laughed a bit, looking inside one of them. 

“Cool…!” He whispered to himself with a giggle, unable to contain his excitement. The fact that he was really on an adventure was amazing to him. He ran inside, spinning around to look at the enormous walls, the light from a crack in the ceiling filtering in. This was amazing. The people who used to live here must’ve been enormous! He wondered if they sung songs like he and his people did, or, if maybe, perhaps his people visited them a long time ago. He wondered what they did! He turned, scuttling through the snow and darting to the next house in his line of vision, much more destroyed than the one he’d left. Skipping around it, he whistled a bit, seeing three enormous claw marks in the crumbled stone wall. “Did the monster destroy the village…?” He mused to himself. A bright smile spread on his face as he ran through the snow-covered streets. “That’s even better! The worse the monster I take down, the better hero I’ll be!” He laughed.

But for all of his exploring, the boy needed to remember what he was actually here for, instead of marvelling at old homes. Choosing to rest after his long climb, he stood before a large, strangely well-kept longhouse that stuck out from the side of the mountain, carved from stone and wood, that had obviously stood the test of time against the elements. The boy bounded up to the steps of the longhouse, leaving his zig zag of footprints in the ruined town behind him to chronicle his frenzy to see everything. As he climbed, he stared at the enormous double doors that blocked his way in, mountains and monsters delicately carved into the wood. He wondered if the monster that had done this was carved on there. He was violently jerked out of his thoughts when his foot sent something metal spinning, grating on the stone steps beneath the snow. His head snapped in the direction of the sound, and he paused in his climb, crouching. 

A helmet with magnificent horns on it sat in the snow. The boy picked it up by the horns, shaking the rest of the snow at it to marvel at it. Strangely, it looked familiar to him, even with the countless faults in the metal, bent from blows from all sorts of weapons. He laughed a bit, putting it on, the helmet covering his eyes and touching his shoulders. From his pack, he drew his flute, brandishing it with a proud yell. 

“Hark! The incredible hero is here to take down the beast with his magical sword, Svellsongur! The villagers need not fear anymore, with me here!” The boy yelled, putting on a voice as he swung his flute. It whistled in the air, and he took a step forward, pretending he was fighting the monster, a sort of practice, if you will. Dancing on the steps, whooping and yelling, he took it down with a decisive stab at its chest. The beast in his head wailed and growled as it fell, and he sheathed his sword, a smile on his face. “The people are saved! The hero is victorious…! ” He cheered, raising his hands up in celebration and knocking one of the horns on his helmet, uncovering one of his eyes. He blinked, moving to fix the helmet, when a glimmer caught his eye. He leaned forward, wiping the snow off of it. In it, he saw his confused expression, and the helmet heavy on his head. He continued to uncover it, sending snow flying from the metal surface. A panel of metal, and farther up, closer to where he’d found the helmet… 

His hand paused where it was, hovering a few inches over what he’d discovered. He stared down, and a frozen face stared back. Speechless and shocked, he straightened up, clenching his hands into fists. A bearded man, mouth opened in a silent scream, was laying frozen on the steps of the longhouse, long dead in armor that failed him. Even with his eyes covered by the helmet, he still knew what he was looking at… And what he was wearing. Not just some random helmet. His helmet, and by extension, the helmet of a Frostguard soldier. The same kind of soldier who’d been sent by Lissandra. The boy quickly clawed at the horns of the helmet, whimpering a bit and tossing it as far as he could, sending it clanging down the steps. He turned and ran as fast as he could up the steps, yelping as he slipped, barely catching himself ashe ran up to the enormous doors. Not bothering to look back, he threw himself on the handles, trying to tug it open with all of his weight. The door creaked and groaned, suddenly giving, and sending him falling on the steps again with the force of his pull. Kicking his legs and sending up more snow into the air, he scrambled to his feet, running into the longhouse, his heart pounding in his ears. Panic sent him crawling over the dusty wooden and stone furnishings.

A wooden chair creaked and groaned under the sudden weight it hadn’t supported in years, and the second he tried to spring off of it, the boy fell to the ground, splinters of old wood raining down on his head. He groaned, beginning to get up. “Ugh…” He mumbled, shaking his head. The enormous chair, meant for a much larger person, had fallen on one of his legs. Hauling himself into a sitting position, the boy stared at it, and the slowly burning pain that began to seep into his leg. He took a deep breath, thinking of what a hero would do, and leaned forward, heaving it up with of his strength. It moved, just enough for him to quickly yank his leg out from under it before his strength failed him and it dropped. It thudded to the ground, and the boy covered his head as more splinters fell onto him. Standing, and shaking his head, he stared at it, gathering his bearings and wondering what to do next. That man on the steps… He’d fought the monster, hadn’t he? He tried to run from it and… 

The boy screwed his eyes shut, shaking the last of the splinters from his hair and clearing his head. No, that guy was just a Frostguard. He wasn’t like him at all. The Frostguards were just soldiers, not heroes. Heroes were invincible, and he was going to be one of them. Everything was going to be fine. After all, he had the magical sword Svellsongur, feller of all manner of beasts. This was nothing! The boy scrambled out from the furniture, skidding to a stop on rotting floorboards, staring up at the enormous cave mouth that the longhouse was built into. Icicles hung like enormous teeth from the ceiling and stuck up from the floor. A slight, chilling breeze blew from the back of the cave into his face, and for a moment he imagined the mountain to be an enormous beast he'd have to slay from the inside. Walking carefully on the water damaged floor in order to not break it, he tiptoed his way to the chilled stone entrance of the cave. It was too late to turn back now, and he didn't want to come running back to the Foundling's Village, tail between his legs. He'd be a laughing stock, and then how would he find his mom? He'd emerge from this cave a hero, and nothing, not even the bodies of those who failed before him could sway him.  
Ready to draw the mighty Svellsongur from its scabbard the second danger reared its ugly head, the boy entered the cave. The drops of water suspended from the ceiling all began to slowly fall, the sudden disturbance of his slight movements enough to make a downpour. With the echoes of the drops ringing through the cave, it sounded almost as if they were applauding his arrival. Spurred by the music of the cave and guided by the gentle light of True Ice, the boy began to run through it, heart thudding as he came closer to what had to be his destiny. With every step, more water came shuddering to the ground, eventually reaching the point where it froze the moment it dropped. Snow falling on him from inside the mountain, the boy wove through the caves, confident in where he was going with every twist in turn. It wasn’t long before he saw the shining white light of the outside ahead, like the stars that guided his tribe. He picked up the pace, hardly believing that this was coming true. He was going to become a hero. Footsteps muffled by the snow at the mouth of the cave, he paused, looking at the clearing before him.

Long destroyed buildings of stone dusted with snow lay scattered about, but that wasn’t the thing he was marveling at. Illuminated by the hole in the mountain above, the snow gently drifting down like glitter, almost in a crown of icicles from the ceiling, he saw a brilliant blue, suspended at the back of the clearing at what looked like a delicately crafted altar, stone curled over it. The gem. It had to be the gem, right? He took a step forward, staring at it, when two more points of blue suddenly appeared. He paused, as a rumble shook the clearing, snow falling from the buildings with its ferocity. Eyes wide, he stared as the sheet of white snow behind the gem shifted and raised, icicles shattering on enormous horns. The monster. He could see its face now, its dark nose and bared teeth, snarling at him as a warning to back off. The thing was massive, just as they said. He thought those horns were an altar, not part of the beast. For a moment, the boy hesitated.

The beast was ready the moment it heard the cave’s song, the soft footsteps reminding him of many a few thieves who had dared to step in his domain. He certainly wasn’t expecting a bright eyed child. But as he rose, he remembered his centuries of unbroken vigil, and knew what he had to do as he snarled. It let out a roar, trembling the clearing, but even so, the boy began to march to the center of it, fists clenched as he stared up at him. The beast flexed its claws, preparing to pounce, leaning protectively over the gem. Child or not, he’d end the boy’s life for attempting to take the treasure. Cold suddenly set into the beast’s mind as he stared at that boy. A cold he’d never felt him pierced him to the bone as he marched forward, and in the floes of snow the boy kicked up with every step, he saw something he’d never seen before. Visions of heroes slaying dragons, beheading ancient serpents, and uncovering unspeakable evils swirled around the boy. The beast’s eyes widened as the boy drew a flute from his bag, brandishing it like a sword with a yell. The guardian was confused. Why was he seeing these visions around this child? 

The boy was surprised the monster hadn’t descended upon him yet, even after he drew Svellsongur from its scabbard. Pointing it at the monster, he stared at its face, softening a bit as it looked down at him. He’d known this guardian long before he’d ever stumbled upon its home, through the songs his mother sang to him to lull him to sleep, or to cheer on villages before the final few days before a bitter winter. 

Vigil unbroken,  
And centuries bound,  
The guardian,  
The keeper,  
Waits for the champion.  
Winds whispering,  
And singing his sorrow,  
The guardian,  
The keeper,  
Waits to be freed.

The boy’s shoulders slumped a bit, before a roar came again, the monster, no, the guardian, regaining his bearings. He crouched, gloved hands scooping the snow from the ground, packing it into a ball, arm aiming back like a catapult. The guardian took a step, and he threw it with all of his might. The guardian let out a grunt of surprise as it hit, and the boy smiled as he saw the flecks of snow falling down his nose. As he prepared another snowball, the boy knew what the guardian really needed. All these years, he’d forgotten what it was like to not be alone. He wasn’t a monster, he was never a monster. The boy threw his next snowball, hitting the guardian square between the eyes. The guardian huffed, covering its face as he continued to pelt him with snowballs, a low growl rumbling from his throat. How dare a child come in here, expecting to just take the treasure? How dare he not even try and fight! How dare--

Another snowball hit the guardian, and out of a mix of shock and spite, he decided to play the child’s game. The boy laughed as the guardian leaned down, packing the snow with all four of his paws. He plunged through the snow, holding his own snowball close to his chest as the guardian threw it, just barely missing him. As the guardian crouched again to make another, he threw it, hitting him again. Blue eyes flicked up to the boy, as if to say, ‘Really?’, before quickly making another one, throwing it at him with his teeth bared. This untouched clearing was slowly becoming covered in the boy’s footprints as he ran and dodged the snowballs the guardian threw at him, and the boulders of snow that had missed. 

The boy whooped and laughed and cheered as they played, and slowly, the guardian’s heart, frozen by centuries of watch and familiar only with greed, softened. A smile slowly grew on its face, its growl began to grow into a laugh, rage turning into joy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. Laughing, the guardian hefted up an snowball in two paws, watching the boy closely as he prepared to dodge again, sticking his tongue out at him. The boy threw the snowball in his hand, hitting the guardian’s leg, before running. The guardian heaved back the snowball he held, before throwing it with all his might. The boy’s laugh was suddenly muffled as it hit its mark, sending him face-first into the snow. The guardian let out a cheer, heart thudding as he waited for the boy to get up so they could keep playing. The boy sat up, wiping the snow off of his face. Instead of laughing, or getting up, he stared into the snow a few feet away. The guardian fell silent as he watched the boy crawl forward, grabbing something from the snow and raising it up. 

A small, wooden flute hung together by a splinter of wood were held delicately in his hands. Deep down, the boy knew it wasn’t a sword. Just an instrument given to him by his mother on his fifth nameday. The guardian watched as the boy began to cry, bending over and hugging the flute to his chest. His sobs wracked through the cavern, and the guardian saw the visions around him flutter and change. Everytime the guardian had looked into the gem he’d protected for centuries, he saw the greed of man, thirst for power, the end of his people’s power from a horrible betrayal... But this boy was different. The gem shuddered from the boy’s cries, and the guardian stared into the visions. He saw a caravan burning, flames rising high into the frozen sky of the Freljord. He heard a soft, gentle voice, singing as he saw the boy carried away by the Frostguard, hand outstretched to the wreckage. He’d never felt or seen anything like this from any human he’d seen, not even the three sisters that came to him, long, long ago. He saw love, fighting back despair.

The guardian rose, realizing in that moment that his wait had come to an end. Gently, in his paws, he took the gem from where it was suspended, slowly trudging through the snow to the boy. The child shuddered and hiccuped, looking up at him with a tear-stained face as he held the broken flute in his hand. The guardian knew that it was his fault, but he knew how to fix it. The Freljord’s only hope lay within this child. He knew it, and the magic of his people sensed it as well, yearning for a pure and hopeful heart to shape it. The guardian crouched before him, the gem in his paw. Eyes wide and confused, the boy watched as, with a gentle swing of his paw, the gem floated towards him. Staring into the now kind eyes of the guardian, the boy was still, trusting him in that moment. He trusted the guardian as the gem shattered, its magic flowing into him, settling into the heart that would use it right.

“Make your imagination a reality, Nunu.” The voice of the guardian said to him. The boy raised his flute, eyes wide as he watched snow and ice pack around the crack in his flute. In amazement, the boy stared as it solidified, a chunk of True Ice around his dear instrument, no, Svellsongur…! Carefully, he raised it to his lips, and blew. A single, soft note came from it, and in that moment, the boy knew that it worked. A smile made its way onto the boy’s face, and he threw himself into the arms of the guardian, laughing. The guardian hefted him up, hugging him tightly, his new best friend, as he held his flute, tears of relief coming to his eyes.

“Thank you…!” The boy laughed. “Thank you, Willump!”


End file.
